The tree of life
by the local knicker merchant
Summary: Set sometime in the 2020, Carla and Peter reconcile the past and look forward to the future.


**The tree of life**

"You should eat something, love." Peter looked askance at Carla's empty plate as he tucked into his own breakfast of hot buttered toast and jam. "Let me make you something."

"I can't," Carla's brow furrowed in distaste. "I feel sick at the thought."

"I know you're nervous, but fainting because you haven't eaten isn't gonna help." Peter pleaded with Carla. "Come on, it'll make _me_ feel better at least."

"I'd love a coffee?" Carla suggested hopefully.

"How about tea," Peter countered.

"Go on then."

Carla sighed. She didn't want tea, but she did want Peter to feel useful. Knowing how helpless he'd been feeling lately, that everything was so far out of his control, suffering down a cup of tea was the least she could do for him.

Jamming a slice of toast into his mouth, Peter jumped into action, striding to the kitchen bench to brew Carla's tea.

"What time do we have to leave?" Peter flicked the switch on the kettle and, leaning against the benchtop, watched Carla at the breakfast table as he munched on his toast. But Carla was lost in her own thoughts, oblivious to the physical world. "Love?"

"Hmm?" Carla looked up at Peter in surprise. "What was that?"

"I was just wondering what time we needed to leave?"

"Umm… the appointment's at eleven thirty, so if we head off around eleven?"

"Okay, I'll make sure I'm back in time." Peter hesitated; he didn't want Carla to feel smothered, but he wanted to keep an eye on her all the same. "You know, I don't have to go to work if you'd rather I stayed here?"

"No, no, it's alright." Carla reassured Peter. "I'll probably head in myself for an hour or so."

"Love, I don't think –"

"I need the distraction," Carla snapped at him.

"Right," Peter was taken aback.

"I'm sorry," Carla softened at seeing the hurt on Peter's face. "I can't sit here and stew, worrying about what might happen. I just wanna get it over with."

* * *

"Give me a minute, yeah?"

Peter looked at Carla with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yes!" Carla breathed slowly and deeply; in and out. "I just need a minute!"

"I'm sorry!" Peter turned away, desperate to hide from Carla his frustration at himself for always saying the wrong thing; at her for always interpreting everything he said in the worst possible way.

"No, I'm sorry, Peter." Carla grabbed hold of Peter's arm and spun him back around to face her. "Come here." She pulled him close to her; his arms automatically reached around her waist; her hands rested on his chest. "I'm really scared, Peter. I don't think I could cope… not again."

"Oh, love." Peter caressed Carla's cheek and gently wiped away the tears that fell silently from her eyes. "I'm scared too. But, as long as we've got each other, we'll be okay."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Carla smiled weakly at him; no matter how much she pushed him away, shut him down or brushed off his concerns, she was thankful that, this time, he was by her side.

"So… you ready then?"

"Ready."

Peter held out his hand to Carla; she slipped her hand into his with a smile. Suddenly she felt invincible.

Hand-in-hand they walked into Weatherfield General Hospital, ready to face whatever was coming; together, as a team.

* * *

"Is everything okay?" Carla glanced anxiously up at the sonographer from the hospital bed where she was laying, her belly exposed.

"Everything…" as the sonographer peered at the screen where a fuzzy black and white image was displayed; an image that showed a plump little body, two little legs tucked up tight to the body, finished with ten tiny toes; two arms, fingers, a head, a sweet little face, with a little snub nose; all the tiny parts joined together to form Carla and Peter's baby. "…is perfect. A strong, healthy heartbeat, all the measurements are good, everything's developing just as it should be."

The relief overwhelmed Carla completely; she burst into tears, her sobs soon mingled with hysterical laughter. She struggled to calm herself, to regain her composure.

"I'm sorry, what am I like!?"

"Don't be sorry, it's an emotional time," the sonographer shrugged off Carla's embarrassment. "Is this your first?"

"Umm…" Carla was confused; she wasn't sure how to reply.

"No," Peter stepped in, anxious to minimise Carla's distress. "We lost our first, a girl, about four months into the pregnancy."

"I'm so sorry."

"Hence the waterworks," Carla was anxious to explain. "In my mind, I thought if we just got past that milestone safely, four months, then everything would be okay."

"Now we've made it," Peter stroked Carla's hair gently. "I hope you're gonna stop stressing so much."

"You know I can't give any guarantees," the sonographer spoke the truth with compassion. "But I can't see anything in your scan that gives me cause for concern."

"Really?"

"I'd listen to your husband if I were you. Try to relax and enjoy being pregnant."

"Oh, he's not my husband."

"Not the point, love."

Carla smiled up at Peter. He couldn't quite decide where to look; at the picture of the precious child they had longed for, or its mother, who was nurturing it, protecting it, loving it with every single thing she did every single moment of every single day.

"Did you want to know the sex of the baby?"

Carla and Peter looked at each other, grins plastered on their faces.

"Yes."

"Definitely."

"If you look closely just there," the sonographer pointed to a spot on the screen. "That is your son's penis."

* * *

Neither Carla nor Peter could keep the smiles off their faces as they strolled hand-in-hand down the cobbles, bursting into spontaneous laughter every time they turned to look at each other.

"Hey," Peter stopped as they approached the community garden. "Come in here for a minute."

"Peter," Carla pulled on Peter's hand, but he resisted. "They're expecting us at the Bistro, you know, waiting to hear our news."

"Well, they can carry on waiting."

"But –"

"Come on, I wanna show you something."

Carla allowed Peter to lead her into the gardens; a tranquil space, a place of peace in the middle of a street that was so often full of drama and, at times, danger. He paused in front of a spot towards the rear of the garden where a potted plant and some garden tools were laid out in front of a freshly dug section of earth.

"Don't tell me," Carla joked. "You've volunteered us as community gardeners for the day? I gotta tell ya, though, dirt under me fingernails, it's not really the look I'm going for."

"Oi, enough of the wise cracks."

"Sorry," Carla playfully pinched Peter's cheek and kissed him, a quick peck on the lips. "Go on."

"This is a birch tree," Peter proudly announced, gesturing towards the plant. "A dwarf one obviously."

"Obviously," Carla rolled her eyes cheekily.

"The birch, it, umm… it symbolises new beginnings, hope, the promise of what's to come."

"Right," Carla wondered where Peter was going with his horticultural lecture.

"I know at the moment we're all about looking to the future, you know, with this little one on the way." Peter placed his hand gently on Carla's bump, hidden up until this point in her pregnancy from everyone but him with loose fitting clothes. Carla thrilled at Peter's touch, at his desire to be physically close to, to communicate with, their child. "But I wanted to do something, umm… something tangible, you know, to remember our baby girl. So that, wherever she is, she knows we haven't forgotten her."

Carla was speechless; if this had happened to anyone else, she would've laughed, mocked the man, proclaimed it cheesy. But, looking at Peter, at the thought he'd put into this little memorial, her feelings were, surprisingly, the complete opposite.

"So, umm, if it's worth getting your fingernails dirty for one day, I thought, you know, we could plant this tree together."

Carla had lost their baby girl years ago; a baby conceived during a turbulent and ultimately doomed marriage. Yet she still thought about that baby. Wondered what she would look like now; which features she would inherit from her, and which from Peter.

For the longest time, she had blamed Peter for the loss. For the stress he'd caused with the affair and the drinking and the endless police interrogations. But, despite everything, Carla knew how much Peter had loved their baby girl, wanted her, was devastated when she was gone, blamed himself. And eventually, out of blame came forgiveness and healing and, ultimately, new hope.

Every moment of this pregnancy had, for Carla, been intricately interwoven with her first. The hopes and dreams that had so unexpectedly sprung up while she was carrying her daughter were suddenly given new life. She had allowed herself once more to build those castles in her imagination; a dream life with her dream family.

But, hand-in-hand with the hope, came the fear. The fear that history would repeat itself, that this baby, like her first, would opt out of living a life with her as a mother.

"I dunno, maybe I'm being pathetic and sentimental," Peter misinterpreted Carla's silence as disapproval.

"No," Carla linked her arm through Peter's and rested her head on his shoulder as they both looked down at the birch tree. "I think it's lovely. You're lovely. Thank you."

Then she turned to him; she reached out to him, cradled his face in her hands, and kissed him, softly on the lips, on the forehead. She drew him towards her, ever closer, resting forehead to forehead, the two of them, forever linked.

* * *

Carla and Peter sat on the garden bench, Peter's arm around Carla's shoulders, her hand resting on his thigh, and gazed at the tree they had just planted for their baby girl.

"Peter," Carla's voice was uncharacteristically small, as if she hadn't quite decided whether or not to speak.

"Mmm…?"

"I, umm…" Carla began but faltered, scared of confessing the truth to Peter.

"What is it, love?"

Carla breathed in and out slowly, trying to calm herself.

"Do you think, losing her, do you think it was a punishment?"

"For what?"

"Not wanting her? Wanting to get rid of her?" Carla looked fearfully at Peter. "I'd taken so many steps down that road, Peter. I'd made that appointment. I sat there in that office, the pill in my hand. It was in my hand, Peter, seconds away from… I couldn't do it in the end. But, I keep wondering… did she know? Did she know that I didn't want her? Is that why she…?"

"Oh, love," Peter pulled Carla closer to him, reassuring her. "That's not how it works."

"It's ironic, isn't it, that after all that, after I ended up wanting her, loving her with my whole heart, I couldn't have her."

"Sweetheart, please don't blame yourself. If you have to blame someone, blame me."

"Oh, let's not start the blame game. There's been enough of that."

"Agreed."

Peter kissed Carla's temple softly and they lapsed once more into silence, a vigil of sorts for their lost daughter.

"Hey," Carla had a sudden brainwave. "Do you remember I told you about all the things people do with the placenta after they give birth?"

"Baby, I love you and all, but I draw the line at eating your placenta!"

"Oh, gross! I didn't mean… Eww!" Carla grimaced at him. "No, some people plant it under a tree. Because of all the nutrients and stuff, it acts kind of like a fertiliser. I thought maybe we could plant it here? Under the birch tree? I dunno, is that too weird?"

"No, it's beautiful. It's like brother and sister will be together in a strange way."

"She won't be alone."

Carla wrapped her arms around Peter's chest; his hand rested on her bump. They sat there as they held each other in silent communion, soberly remembering the past and joyfully anticipating the future.

"Well then," Peter spoke casually, seemingly spontaneously. "Since we're having another baby, don't ya think it's time we got hitched again?"

"Peter Barlow!" Carla pulled away from Peter and glared at him. "If that's your idea of a romantic proposal, you got some learnin' to do!"

"What? You want romance? I thought we were past all that."

"Well, I'd like a little more than 'how 'bout it, love?'!"

"Hmm…" Peter pondered on this. "I guess you're right. I'll keep it in mind."

"Good." Carla was confused as they both lapsed back into silence. Was that it? Was he going to give up? Just like that?

And then he moved; up out of his seat and down to the ground, on one knee, a ring in his outstretched hand.

"How's this then?" Even in the middle of a romantic proposal, Peter couldn't help but joke.

"Peter, I…"

"Carla Connor, love of my life, mother of my children, the only thing that could make me happier than I am right at this moment is to one day be your husband…again. A better one this time. That's not a high standard, I know…"

Peter silently cursed at his last-minute fumble; reminding Carla of the mess he'd made of their first marriage was not the best strategy in getting her to agree to a rematch.

"What I meant was… Will you marry me?"

He stared at her expectantly; he watched as her mouth opened, as if to speak, but nothing came out.

"Well?" Peter peered anxiously at Carla, suddenly unsure of himself, fearful that she might say no.

Carla looked down at the ring for the first time. A solitaire set in a simple, elegant silver setting. Not a diamond; but a pale blue-green stone, exquisitely cut, like nothing she'd seen before.

"It's a sapphire," Peter explained. "A Montana sapphire because they're the best apparently. And you deserve the best."

"The colour…"

"It reminded me of your eyes."

Carla looked up at Peter, those pale blue-green eyes flashed at him; a reflection of all the love and the promise that he was offering to her. Peter didn't need to hear her answer; he could already see it in her eyes.


End file.
